


shikaku (assassin)

by GoandSeek



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Kuroo Tetsurou is a Little Shit, M/M, Practice Smut (if that's a thing), Randomness, Yamaguchi in Lace, depiction of murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:27:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29420100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoandSeek/pseuds/GoandSeek
Summary: Tsukishima wasn’t as sexless as Kuroo liked to tease him to be, but he genuinely couldn’t figure out where his eyes should’ve been settling. Tsukishima felt like his mere existence— just being a man attracted to men and being in the same room as this man— was disrespectful with the way he was undoubtedly looking at him.
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Kudos: 40





	shikaku (assassin)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N I don't condone assassins/assassinating. Do I have any right to condone/consent it? Probably not, but I just wanted to clarify that the whole 'assassin' premise is just for the sake of this AU and that murder isn't cool, nor should it be romanticized/minimalized/normalized. 
> 
> That being said, enjoy this possibly OOC attempt at practicing smut (my first time writing smut ahh) that dragged out into something with entirely too much plot.

**shikaku (assassin)**

TSUKISHIMA HAD A FAULTLESS RECORD. He didn’t prolong his job, swiftly executing it without so much as a trademark or a typical monologue. His ruthlessness had scored him numbers of clients and renown in the underworld where he went by a pseudonym— Hotaru. It wasn’t flashy, nor overly-complicated. Truthfully, the pseudonym was derived from the numerous mistakes people had made over the years by misreading the character for his actual name: Kei. His handler, Sugawara Koushi, had warned him of the lack of subtlety in the name, but the majority of people never made the connection between the incorrect reading and the covert assassin’s pseudonym.

The few who did never mentioned it again. 

“He’s going up to his room,” Sugawara’s voice sounded in Tsukishima’s ear and the blond blinked down at his plate. He was at a café, the best place to pretend to take a work call, and his button-down sleeves were rolled up, one hand carefully cutting through a slice of strawberry shortcake with a tiny fork. Tsukishima wasn’t quite sure why people liked small cutlery— he found it inefficient and annoying to use such weirdly sized tools. 

“The client asked for evidence, so I need you to follow him up after ten minutes.” _and then take pictures._ Tsukishima had already made his move, rigging the target’s car to fill with a fast-acting nerve-agent the second he started the engine. Now, he just needed to tail him until the man started his vehicle, then take pictures to send to his employer. 

Pictures were always his least favorite part— they were too gaudy, occasionally gory, and overall a waste of time and effort. 

Tsukishima sighed, deciding against eating the cake and instead picking up the strawberry and biting into it with relish. He didn’t like that he had to buy the whole shortcake just to get the strawberry, but the strawberries from the marketplace didn’t cut it for him anymore. Tsukishima reasoned that the strawberries atop strawberry shortcakes had been handpicked and curated for perfection, so it wasn’t unreasonable to prefer them. 

“Bill, sir?”

A short, blonde waitress approached him timidly, smiling nervously when Tsukishima nodded, pulling out a few bills and placing them on top of the table. His wallet seemed unbalanced, so he took the time to rearrange a few cards, closing it when he was satisfied. 

“Thank you, sir, _oh—_ I’m so sorry!”

The waitress, hands shaking, picked up the wallet she’d knocked to the floor. Nothing had fallen out, _thankfully,_ and she pressed it to Tsukishima’s lap hastily. She bowed, apologizing over and over before rushing away with the payment. 

_Tcch._ Tsukishima didn’t have time for incompetence. 

Tsukishima checked his wallet once more because pickpockets came in all different shapes and sizes. Nothing had been taken, so he stood from his table and left the cafe, grabbing his briefcase. Rolling his sleeves back down, he straightened his collar. A tie seemed too ostentatious, but a polo seemed too underdressed (Death didn’t have a preference, but the hotel the target was staying in was one of prestige), so Sugawara had settled on dressing Tsukishima in a suit with a button-up, but no tie. Tsukishima found it weird, but he didn’t argue with his handler, accepting the outfit wordlessly. 

“Can’t I just wait by the car?” Tsukishima hissed into the collar of his shirt, pretending he was still fixing, using the window of the cafe as a mirror. 

“Hmm,” Sugawara hummed in deliberation, “I suppose you could— _wait_.”

Tsukishima’s step almost faltered, caught off guard by his handler’s worried and urgent tone. He recomposed himself in a millisecond, checking his watch and pulling his burner phone out to pretend like he was waiting for something, and not desperately stalling for time. 

“Kuroo says he sees someone with the target.”

“Is he bullshitting us, right now?”

Sugawara laughed dryly, “I don’t think so. He got into hotel security and he’s sending the video footage to me right now. There’s a person with our target— Kuroo thinks they might be some sort of escort.”

_Fuck._ Tsukishima pocketed his phone, pushing his glasses out of the way to press on the bridge of his nose. He didn’t harm innocents, he only went after people the clients specified. If there was a chance of an _escort_ getting into the car with the target, the death wouldn’t look accidental anymore. The chance of an older man having a heart attack was high, but an older man _and his young, lively escort?_ There would be an investigation.

“Fuck,” Tsukishima verbalized, crossing the street quickly and entering the hotel. He’d normally carry himself calmly, a figure of unshakeable composure. When push came to shove though, Tsukishima could give the White Rabbit (from Alice in Wonderland) a run for his money.

“Don’t worry,” Sugawara attempted to soothe Tsukishima through their audio link, “They’ll probably take their time before leaving. You’ll just need to get rid of the extra, somehow, and then neutralize the target.”

Tsukishima hummed briefly in response, slowing his speedy walk and letting his mind expand outwards. Nobody gave him a second look as he crossed the hotel lobby, a few bellhops nodding at him in complete oblivion. The target was on the ninth floor, so Tsukishima took the elevator to the tenth, making sure to face the camera in the elevator head-on. 

“Kuroo’s altering the image as we speak,” Sugawara reassured him before he could ask.

“Don’t worry about the cameras, he has them under control.”

_Okay, good._ That was one less thing to worry about. The elevator _dinged_ and the doors slid open. Tsukishima took the chance to survey the floor layout, taking note whenever Sugawara would mention something abstract in hopes that it would help. 

_The fire alarm doesn’t have a camera covering it._

_The suite rooms at the end of the hallway have extra closet space. Very nice._

Some facts were more helpful than others. 

“Hotaru, we got the ‘okay’ from the client to neutralize both the target and the extra.”

Tsukishima wasn’t sure if that helped in the slightest, but he hissed something imperceptibly so Sugawara would understand that he heard. Still formulating a plan, he took the stairs to floor nine, switching his briefcase to his non-dominant hand in case he had to get physical. Even if he could get away with killing the escort, Tsukishima didn’t want to. Assassinating was the easy part, but covering up two deaths between linked figures in the same space was damn near impossible (not really, but the effort required was far beyond Tsukishima’s pay grade). 

“ _Wait_ ,” Sugawara interrupted Tsukishima again and the blond groaned, pausing at the stairwell that led to floor nine, “ _Fuck,_ the cameras are down.”

“They’re _what?_ ” It was a rhetorical question and Tsukishima was _pissed_ . If Kuroo ever tried asking for a favor after this (providing Tsukishima survived whatever the _fuck_ was happening), he would punch him in his smirking face. 

“Kuroo lost control of the hallway—someone is fighting him for the servers.”

“Nevermind him,” Tsukishima wrenched the door open, stepping quickly through the hallway with his head cast down. He had a job he had to finish _today_ and all the fuckery happening with the tech wasn’t in his capacity to fix. He’d push it onto someone else later, but right now he had to find and eliminate his target. _Targets?_ Tsukishima hoped the escort was in the middle of a nice shower and wouldn’t hear the sound of the impending struggle. 

Otherwise, Tsukishima would have _two_ problems to take care of, and he really didn’t want _two_ problems. 

“Are you just jumping in?” 

“Yes. Bye,” Tsukishima used the keycard Kuroo had made, a replica of the target’s, to get into the room, his steps silencing dramatically. Sugawara could continue to talk to him, but he wouldn’t be replying anymore. The walls of the hotel were soundproof, but once he was in the room sneakiness was needed. Some would see this as being irrational, but assassins rarely had things go to plan.

What was rushed and hasty to some, was deliberate and spontaneous to others. 

Tsukishima closed the door behind him, the gentle click sounding like a gunshot in the silence. He could hear the faint trickle of water from the bathroom and he smiled to himself, his theory on the escort showering apparently correct. Slowly, very slowly, Tsukishima traipsed to the main bedroom of the suite and glimpsed the silhouette of his target propped up on the bed. 

_Pathetic_.

Tsukishima grimaced at the sight of his half-naked target who was obviously set and ready for what he’d thought would be a good time with his escort. Escorts were usually under strict, non-sexual contracts, but if the target knew that he certainly seemed to disregard it completely. He was leaned against the pillows, eyes closed in blissful patience and his modesty saved by loose, expensive boxers. A shiny watch slid down his wrist, also loose by the looks of it, and Tsukishima identified the man as someone who thought he was an awful lot _bigger_ than he was. 

The sound of the plumbing for the shower stirred Tsukishima from his disgusted stupor and the blond edged closer to the target perched in the bed. Far from simply being relaxed, the target seemed to have dozed off, his chest rising and falling in peaceful— _no._

Tsukishima’s eyes squinted, lean fingers adjusting his glasses.

_He’s not sleeping._

Forgoing caution, Tsukishima clasped the target’s face in his hand, flinching at the feeling of cold, pallid skin. The target wasn’t breathing. He didn’t have a pulse.

“Hotaru, Kuroo regained control of the cameras. There’s a cleaning lady headed your way. We both agree that she shouldn’t be a big problem—”

“—He’s dead,” Tsukishima cut Sugawara off, confused and reeling back from the artfully arranged corpse.

“ _What?_ ” Sugawara frowned for the third time that day. Something was off. There had been something off this whole job. He had favored the money coming in over his instincts though, and now it seemed like… 

“Tsukishima,” Sugawara hissed, skipping the pseudonym in favor of urgency, “someone else got to him first. They could still be around—”

“— _Don’t—”_

Tsukishima whirled around, his briefcase pulled in front of him protectively at the sound of the new voice. 

“—Turn around— _fuck._ You turned around.”

_Oh_ . Tsukishima’s eyes roved over the figure standing in front of him, unsure of where exactly he should be looking. The escort, as Kuroo had so wonderfully forgotten to mention, was a _man_ and he was currently very much naked. Well, not completely, not even majorly, but the length of his limbs, bare and freckled made Tsukishima feel like he’d _intruded_ on something. _Holy—_ Tsukishima wasn’t as sexless as Kuroo liked to tease him to be, but he genuinely couldn’t figure out where his eyes should’ve been settling. Tsukishima felt like his mere existence— just being a man attracted to men and being in the same room as _this_ man— was _disrespectful_ with the way he was undoubtedly looking at _him._

He could focus on the lacy fabric pulled taut around the escort’s thighs, a knife skillfully tucked into an accompanying holster. He could focus on the tight briefs that left _very_ little to the imagination, the shortness of them rounding over the man’s slim hips. He could focus on the man’s button-up— a respectable and modest shirt in most cases— which had been left unbuttoned and open, fluttering to reveal sharp collarbones and a toned abdomen.

He could focus on the gray eyes, framed by thick, dark lashes and a smattering of freckles that kept him _pinned_ to where he was.

_Or maybe_ , a little voice in the back of Tsukishima’s head chimed in, _you could focus on the gun pointed at your head._

“Briefcase down. _Now._ ”

The authority in the man’s voice struck a long-forgotten chord in the depths of Tsukishima’s dick and the blond complied, eyes locked with the other as he lowered his briefcase to the ground and then kicked it away. He raised his hands into the air, smirking a bit when the grey-eyed man followed the path of his fingers before looking back at Tsukishima’s face.

_Green hair?_ The man’s hair was a shade so dark it was almost black and Tsukishima wondered if it was dyed or not. 

“Tsukishima, is everything alright?” Sugawara’s worried voice crackled into Tsukishima’s ear.

“You were right,” Tsukishima took a chance and spoke openly into the air, smiling a bit wider when the green-haired man fingered the safety of the gun determinedly. 

“Someone got to him before us.”

“Well, yes,” Sugawara sighed, “I figured. Anyways, I’m glad to know you’re okay. Do you need help with clean-up?”

The safety clicked off and the escort— Tsukishima knew fully well that the man wasn’t really an escort at this point, but he didn’t have a name to the pretty face yet— took a step closer, bare feet padding against the carpeted ground silently. _Had he tapped into Sugawara’s and Tsukishima’s line?_ If so, and it certainly seemed so, the man was hearing everything Sugawara was saying to him. Anything Tsukishima said that would lead to the discovery of the other man would lead to a bullet through his head. 

Tsukishima didn’t fancy a bullet through his head. 

“No, I’m all good here. I’ll take care of the clean-up. I’m signing off.”

The silencer at the end of the gun gleamed, muted and ugly, staring Tsukishima down. His hands were beginning to go numb, the blood rushing down to his shoulders from his position of surrender and rushing to his dick because Tsukishima’s body didn’t listen to his brain sometimes. 

“Okay. Bye, Hotaru.”

The line went dead, an annoying buzzing filling Tsukishima’s ear as the audio piece fizzled, then died. They were disposable, and Tsukishima hoped he hadn’t made a foolish mistake. 

“ _Hotaru_?” The man finally lowered his gun, the weapon still not on safety. 

“You’re _the_ Hotaru?.”

“Yes,” Tsukishima exhaled, the thrill leaving him as his arms began to tingle painfully, “Can I put my arms down now?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” The man smiled sheepishly, crossing his hands in front of himself shyly. It would’ve been cute if not for the man’s still-cocked gun in his hands and Tsukishima’s still-cocked dick in his pants. Tsukishima adjusted himself brazenly, taking advantage of the quiet glance the man sent towards the door, to make sure he didn’t look as excited as he felt.

“Who are you? You already know who I am, it seems.”

Tsukishima didn’t bother himself with knowing others in his profession, much less other assassins who pretended to be escorts. The man looked back at Tsukishima, eyes curious yet apprehensive, before finally clicking the safety back on for the gun and setting it on the dressing table at the front of the room. 

“We use numbers,” The man said, smiling to himself as he buttoned his shirt up. Tsukishima tried not to let his disappointment show, his interest in the man startling himself. 

“I’m _Number Twelve_.”

_Twelve._ Tsukishima raised an eyebrow, bending to pick up his briefcase. He could feel Twelve’s eyes on his back, catching the man staring as he slowly got up. As Tsukishima had predicted, his freckles looked even more pronounced when the skin around them was blushing pink. Avoiding Tsukishima’s gaze, the man began to pull on a pair of pants, picking them up from off the floor where they’d been. 

“My real name is Tsukishima,” Tsukishima offered, unsure why he felt the need to expose himself to the rival assassin. _Well_ , it wasn’t like the man could endanger Tsukishima in any way— at the first sign of danger Tsukishima would be able to extract himself with ease, but for now, he let his intrigue commandeer.

“I know,” Twelve smiled cheekily, tightening a belt around his waist. It cinched in tightly and Tsukishima wondered how nice it would feel to rest his hand there, right above freckled hips. 

“I could tell you my name, I guess.”

“Please do,” Tsukishima braved a step forward, hands tucked into his pockets, unthreatening, as his briefcase dangled from his elbow like a handbag. 

“Yamaguchi,” The man looked up at Tsukishima through his eyelashes, hands sweeping around his jaw to pull his hair back half up. The hair underneath the layer he’d pulled back seemed darker, an almost-brown that made his gray eyes smolder heavily into Tsukishima’s own. 

“Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima practiced, “You stole my target.”

“Sorry, Tsukki,”

_Tsukki._ Tsukishima allowed himself a quick, quiet chuckle. Watching Yamaguchi the way a predator would, Tsukishima noted with considerable interest that the lacy bands that had wrapped around the man’s thighs beautifully (and hid knives) were just faintly visible through the soft, molding material of his pants. 

“You might as well take my job, Yamaguchi.”

Yamaguchi grinned, eyes squinting shut and teeth blinding in the filtering sunlight of the suite’s bedroom. He brought a freckled hand up to cover his mouth as he laughed, snickering into his palm as he squinted up at Tsukishima. 

“Maybe I will, Tsukki.”

“Tadashi, I’m here for clean-up— _oh_!”

Tsukishima tore his eyes away from Yamaguchi, stealthily keeping his hands in front of his pants. The cleaning lady Sugawara had warned him about had just entered the room— far too quietly for the average cleaner who normally announced their entry. Tsukishima had hypothesized that the cleaning lady was a _cleaner—_ a specialist who helped clear scenes. Though he was right, the face of the specialist was far more familiar than it had any right to be.

“You,” His tone flattened, the previous teasing in his voice leaving as he saw the short, blonde woman from the café look up at him, doleful.

“You’ve been watching me.”

“She’s been doing a lot more than that. Who do you think tapped your audio and the cams?”

Tsukishima reverted his attention to Yamaguchi, still not quite prepared for the way the sun kissed the man’s tanned skin and cradled shadows that dipped and curved around his slim body. Tsukishima knew he was technically slim as well, but he was slim in the way a clothing hanger was— all wiry and cold. Yamaguchi’s legs looked the perfect size to be cradled: to be kissed and dimpled by Tsukishima’s unrelenting fingers and scorching mouth. 

“H-Hotaru,” The girl squeaked, hiding behind the giant laundry cart she’d brought with her. It hid her well, her tiny frame barely casting a shadow on the carpeting.

“Tadashi, I thought you said the coast was clear.”

_Tadashi_. Tsukishima vowed he’d get permission to say the man’s first name one day.

“It is!” Yamaguchi smiled authentically, hands out in a gentle manner as he tried to coax the girl out from behind the cart. Tsukishima caught the glimmer of more than a few earrings, each one twinkling brightly, winking. 

“Tsukki, here, was just about to leave.”

“Was I?”

Tsukishima decided to test the waters. He knew full well how easily he could piss people off when he wanted to— and he usually wanted to. Yamaguchi made Tsukishima want to _impress_ — want to live up to the awe in the man’s voice when he’d said ‘ _Hotaru’_ in a disbelieving whisper. It scared him.

“Do you want to stay and help?”

Yamaguchi either didn’t catch on to Tsukishima being difficult, or he didn’t care. Both possibilities made Tsukishima smile.

“Not really.”

“And here I was, thinking you were cool.”

Tsukishima blinked, feeling his cheeks warm as Yamaguchi met his gaze evenly, eyebrows raised as if to say ‘prove me wrong’. Wordlessly, Tsukishima played right into the man’s hands. He pulled some gloves on and quietly turned, ignoring the gentle protests of the short cleaning lady.

“Did I do a good job, _Hotaru_?”

Tsukishima looked over his shoulder, his nose level with Yamaguchi’s as the faux-escort leaned in close to Tsukishima’s ear. Warm breath tickled the tips of his ears and Tsukishima reverted his gaze to the corpse, a little smile crawling up his face— an involuntary action, and a rare one for Tsukishima. 

“Let’s see, _Tadashi_.”

Tsukishima decided that permission was for chumps, letting the name roll off his tongue the way he wanted it to. He felt Yamaguchi stiffen behind him and his smile grew into a smirk, eyes catching Yamaguchi’s stare in a nicely placed mirror on the other side of the bed. The young girl, Yamaguchi’s accomplice, looked visibly awkward and she yelped when both Tsukishima and Yamaguchi accidentally caught her eye in the mirror. 

“I’ll go deactivate the trap you set in the car, Hotaru.”

“You can call me Tsukishima…?”

“Yachi,” The girl smiled shyly, knees jittery with nerves, “Yachi Hitoka, Tsukishima-san.”

“Okay, Yachi-san, are you sure you can deactivate the—”

“—Don’t be patronizing, Tsukki,” A slap on the shoulder and a chastising voice— Yamaguchi glared at Tsukishima judgmentally, “Anything you can do, Hitoka-chan can do the same and more.”

“Right, okay.”

Tsukishima shifted a little so the tent in his pants wasn’t clearly visible in the mirror, grimacing at the thought of Yamaguchi discovering Tsukishima’s problem— he didn’t have a problem with the discovery per se, but the connection that would be made afterward. There was always the lovely chance that Yamaguchi would reciprocate, but also the chance that the dead body in front of Tsukishima would be awarded the honor of causing Tsukishima’s undeniable boner.

Tsukishima wasn’t a sex god, but he wasn’t lonely enough to resort to fucking _necrophilia_. 

“Tsukki?”

Tsukishima blinked slowly, using the mirror to survey the room again and noting that Yachi had already left, and the cart, useful as it was, was left behind. 

“Tsukki, we should probably hurry.” 

Another whisper— _fuck._ Tsukishima did need to hurry, or the corpse in the bed would have two neighbors. 

“No signs of a struggle,” Tsukishima murmured, acutely aware of how close Yamaguchi was to being _draped_ across his back. 

“Seems like he died from a heart failure,” Tsukishima looked at the mirror for confirmation, smirking and pushing his glasses up when Yamaguchi nodded, eyes glistening with awe. It seemed silly to most— _duh,_ the man died of a heart attack. But Tsukishima was blessed with a _big_ brain and he could use it to identify assassination techniques faster than most coroners and investigators. 

If he had a good heart, he would’ve followed his brother into the police force. Instead, he followed his fate and brought down the people his brother couldn’t dream of even touching. 

“No visible needle marks, _but,_ ” Tsukishima ran his gloved hands across the dead man’s neck, tilting the head to the side to reveal what had piqued his interest, “Are those your handiwork?” 

“Depends, do they get an A?”

“An A for effort,” Tsukishima teased, glancing up at Yamaguchi before leaning closer to examine the smattering of hickies across the dead man’s neck. They’d bruised _wonderfully_ , different shades of pink, the older ones fading to a purple. 

“I always make an effort.”

“I see,” Tsukishima smiled, finger tracing the edge of a larger bruise. He felt the catch of his glove on the little indents in the skin— a bite mark that was soft enough to not pierce, but deep enough to remain in the man’s skin. 

“Injection,” He announced after some deliberation, straightening up from where he’d been stooped over before. Yamaguchi didn’t move, smiling broadly at Tsukishima’s conclusion, the front of his chest firmly pressed to Tsukishima’s back. He’d used some kind of untraceable chemical and the presence of the threat behind him did nothing to ease the cloud of _want_ slowly obscuring Tsukishima’s vision.

“Not bad, really,” Tsukishima ventured to attempt a compliment, relaxing when it carried across and Yamaguchi positively _shone_ with the affirmation of his technique. 

“You injected him at the site of indentation, and there was already a hickey there so the bruising wouldn’t look suspicious.”

Yamaguchi nodded, bashfully, his cheeks far too flushed for someone who had just executed a victim flawlessly— _and in lace too,_ Tsukishima’s mind tacked on. 

“Any tips, _Hotaru_?”

Tsukishima suppressed a chuckle, reluctantly getting up from his comfy position to dispose of his gloves in the cleaning cart. Anything else that could trace back to them— him and Yamaguchi— would be eliminated by the clean-up crew that had been dispatched by Sugawara. Tsukishima knew that his clean up crew— two morons by the names Tanaka Ryuunosuke and Nishinoya Yuu— would still take some time to arrive. Yachi had access to the cameras, so she’d take care of the cart just as soon as she was done with the car. It was ruthless and efficient.

_And occasionally rewarding,_ Tsukishima thought, smirking as he returned to face Yamaguchi. The green-haired man had one hip cocked, hands folded politely in front of him. 

“They can trace dental records, you know that right? And saliva contains DNA.”

“Tsukki.” Yamaguchi giggled, “I know that.”

_He did._ Tsukishima had spotted a dental frame in the cleaning cart— fake teeth that could be slipped over a real set to mimic them perfectly. Tsukishima assumed the teeth marks left in the victim if they were even investigated, would lead to a dead end. Yamaguchi’s eyes shone knowingly, pretty mouth quirked up in an innocent smile. Judging by the twinkle in Yamaguchi’s eyes alone, Tsukishima assumed that the other man’s company had access to some kind of false DNA as well, specially procured for someone with a skillset like Yamaguchi’s. They had the science to do that nowadays, but it was withheld from the public for obvious reasons. 

“Well,” Yamaguchi fiddled with his buttons, picking up his gun from the vanity by the en suite bathroom, “I hope I see you again, Tsukki.”

“Likewise, Yamaguchi.” _Like that would happen._ But Tsukishima could hope.

✧✧✧

“Again, Yamaguchi?”

“Oh, I’m sorry!”

“Shut up. Don’t apologize, Yamaguchi.” _Especially since you’re not actually sorry._

“Sorry, Tsukki!”

Tsukishima laughed, a jarring, random sound to the listening Sugawara. He hadn’t kept his meeting Yamaguchi a secret from his handler, ignoring the silver-haired man’s indignant reprimanding in favor of replaying the meeting over and over in his head. Sugawara, apprehensive as he was (not to mention Kuroo, who was convinced Yamaguchi was a figment of Tsukishima’s imagination) had warmed up to Yamaguchi the way butter did in a saucepan— instantly and flavorfully. Their meetings tallied at six now, an abnormally high amount (even once was considered suspicious) and both assassins had their teams brainstorming reasons as to _why_ they kept colliding. 

The two left the questioning for their teams, spending the precious time between the hit and the clean-up crew’s arrival reviewing different techniques and making small talk. Tsukishima usually abhorred, as he did most things, small talk, but with Yamaguchi the suffering sentences were minute blessings. Anything Tsukishima could get the man to say (and Yamaguchi never shied away from speaking— he led most of their conversations) was a cherished memory which he would pocket in his brain, right next to ‘ways to piss off Kageyama’ and ‘lace’. ‘Lace’ had gotten a whole cabinet to itself, since pretending to be an escort was Yamaguchi’s preferred method and the man, if he’d beaten Tsukishima to the hit, never seemed to be dressed by the time Tsukishima arrived. It was a blissfully welcome surprise to walk into a room only to be greeted by a corpse and a half-naked Yamaguchi. 

“What’s your favorite dinosaur, Tsukki?” Yamaguchi had asked once, bare legs dangling from where he was seated. Tsukishima wondered if the sheets felt cold on his bare thighs and mentally offered himself as a warm _thing_ Yamaguchi could sit on if he felt chilly. Tsukishima’s benevolence knew no bounds. 

“Not sure,” Tsukishima hummed, tucking his knife away into his briefcase after cleaning the blood off it, “Velociraptors were my favorite when I was little.”

“Oh, the smart ones that looked like overgrown chickens, right?”

“You’ve been studying.”

Yamaguchi keened with the praise, lips parting and hands clenching the sheets under them. 

“Good,” Tsukishima had murmured, noting every single movement the man made. 

Yamaguchi responded well to praise. _And Tsukishima?_ Tsukishima had a feeling Yamaguchi had figured out _exactly_ what pushed his buttons. 

“Can you get me my shoes, please?”

Tsukishima blinked slowly, chuckling to himself when he realized Yamaguchi had been serious. Tsukishima didn’t follow orders— no matter how politely they were asked. He’d do whatever he liked. Kuroo called it childish, Sugawara called it immature, and Yamaguchi called it—

“ _—Tsukki?”_

_Oh,_ that tone was dangerous. Tsukishima focused on Yamaguchi once more, taking in the smooth lines of his legs as he crossed them. His feet were bare and Tsukishima briefly considered his aversion to toes before nullifying those thoughts to replace them with the image of Yamaguchi, smiling and deadly. _He would make an exception for Yamaguchi’s toes._ The freckled man apologized quietly for the request, the quirk of his lips telling another story completely as one hand dragged down his leg in a brief stretch. 

“Don’t you have any pride?” _Going around teasing like that._

Tsukishima (made the best mistake of his life) called Yamaguchi out as he crossed the room to pick up the brown Oxfords (a type of fancy shoe) he’d discarded by the rest of his clothes. He’d been wearing a lovely gray suit, the standard button-up swapped out for something sheer and decorated with swirls of embroidered stitch— lace. The pattern matched that of the garters on his thighs (unfortunately not accompanied by any stockings).

Yamaguchi froze, bent at the waist. Tsukishima would have noticed the change in Yamaguchi’s temperament if he hadn’t been busy admiring another view altogether. 

“What else do I have but my pride?” Yamaguchi straightened, one hand fingering the lacy band around his thigh and the other cupping his hip. His tone had changed into something deeper—more assertive than Tsukishima had ever heard— and his eyes flashed wildly. Tsukishima watched Yamaguchi’s facade of politeness and shyness jump out of the window alongside Tsukishima’s own dignity. 

“Pathetic, there’s more to life than pride,” Tsukishima let his mouth move, letting his dick control the stupidity of his confession. _He loved this version of Yamaguchi._

This Yamaguchi, the one made of unwavering determination and metal, had flit into Tsukishima’s peripheral a few times before— but never with such direct vengeance.

“What’s pathetic,” Yamaguchi spoke low, voice still gentle but taking on a gravelly tone that had Tsukishima checking his pants in alarm, “Is people who rely on _others'_ to sustain their pride.”

  
  
  


“Is that so?”

Yamaguchi made his way back across the room, shoulders rounded back and hair pulling out of where it was loosely tied until it framed his face in uneven tendrils. Tsukishima watched him approach, legs spreading in involuntary expectancy and throat running dry as he witnessed what _exactly_ entailed Yamaguchi to be a faultless seducer— _and an assassin._

One of Yamaguchi’s feet found a home to the side of Tsukishima’s spread thighs, knee brushing the curve of his jaw if he turned his head far enough. The other was planted firmly on the floor between either of Tsukishima’s legs and Tsukishima trained his eyes on Yamaguchi’s blazing glare, using all his self-control to avoid face planting into the gift that had been so nicely presented right in front of his face. Yamaguchi leaned low, hips spreading flexibly as his propped knee forced Tsukishima to face him as he bent to speak. 

Tsukishima kept his face neutral, hands rubbing up and down his pant legs as he fought the urge to pull Yamaguchi straight into his lap. 

A warm hand wrapped around Tsukishima’s collar and his mask slipped for a second, surprise flooding his features when Yamaguchi yanked him upwards to almost-press their noses together. Tsukishima’s glasses fogged and he cursed his father’s terrible eyesight, which, as luck would have it, had been passed down to him. Having foggy glasses was a terrible boner-killer during eye-sex. 

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi released him suddenly and Tsukishima opened his eyes, unaware that he’d even closed them.

“Get my shoes.”

Tsukishima smiled.

“Make me.”

“That was _fucking hot_!” A familiar voice shouted into Tsukishima’s earpiece. 

The tension in the air melted and diffused out the window as both Yamaguchi and Tsukishima blanched roughly. _He tapped my audio again._ Yamaguchi pulled his leg away, face building an embarrassed flush as he quickly gathered his clothes and wore them in a rush. Tsukishima, who was arguably stuck to the chair from the weight of his disappointment, mustered the calmest voice he could given the predicament. If he hadn’t just had a successful hit two weeks before, he would have used his drug-combination to kill Kuroo slowly and painfully. Though, with the man’s brains (which he often forgot to use) he probably could have figured an antidote. 

“Kuroo,” Tsukishima hissed into his hand, once again adjusting himself in his pants, “I’m going to kill you.”

“Too bad you used up your toxins,” Kuroo prodded and Tsukishima felt the heat of Hell bleed through his earpiece. 

“I have my hands,” Tsukishima scowled, feeling his ears turn red when he spied Yamaguchi laughing into his hand, fully clothed. _Fuck, he was still attractive, even when he wasn’t all commanding and naked._

“I’ll choke you.”

“Will you, _Kinky-shima_?—”

—Sugawara’s faint laughter trickled through the audio and tears began to well up in the corners of Yamaguchi’s eyes—

“—or you wanna save that for _Twelve_?”

Yamaguchi doubled over, both hands clasped on his mouth like he could swallow his laughter. 

“I’m signing off now. Go fuck yourself, Kuroo.”

“Wait, wait—”

— _No_ . Tsukishima took his earpiece out and slid it into his pocket, looking hazily over at Yamaguchi who returned the stare with his own affection. _Affection?_ To Tsukishima, the word was an uncomfortable one and it described something he didn’t have much experience with. He wasn’t sexless, no, but _loveless_? Tsukishima would be less hasty to deny that descriptor. 

“Oh,” Yamaguchi blinked, head cocking to the side ever so slightly. Tsukishima felt a rush of _something_ inflate his chest, a small, doting smile crawling on his face without him knowing it. Yamaguchi could go from a sex machine to a cute, confused mess in an astoundingly short period of time, and Tsukishima was slowly discovering that he didn’t mind the many shades of Yamaguchi Tadashi _at all_. 

“Kuroo-san says he knows who our client is,” Yamaguchi motioned for Tsukishima to slip his earpiece back in. 

Tsukishima’s brows furrowed and he reluctantly listened. 

“I have their location,” Kuroo’s voice was serious now, void of the joking that usually accompanied it, “I’ll head over there now to see if I can clear up why they keep hiring both you and Yamaguchi for the same hits.”

_Disappointment?_ Once again, Tsukishima struggled to identify what exact emotion he was feeling. One on hand, it was great that Kuroo had found their client since it was incredibly inefficient to send and hire two assassins for one, simple target. On the other hand, Tsukishima didn’t mind bumping into Yamaguchi repeatedly—in fact, he enjoyed it.

“Well, Tsukki,”

Yamaguchi initiated their farewell, stepping forward to meet Tsukishima halfway as the blond moved towards him in a daze. Tsukishima blinked down, eyes tracing Yamaguchi’s freckles and connecting them like constellations as the other man straightened Tsukishima’s already-straight tie.

“I guess this is goodbye.”

A watery smile. Yamaguchi’s eyes were wide and beseeching, sucking out what little resilience Tsukishima had in him. 

Neither was sure who moved first, but the safe assumption was that Yamaguchi had once again taken the lead and tugged Tsukishima down the few inches needed to let their mouths meet in the middle. The kiss wasn’t overly sweet, nor was it drawn out: their tongues met before their lips and they pulled away far too soon. It was a messy kiss, but not from inexperience but rather an overabundance of experience and an overwhelming urge to _consume_ as much as possible. They kissed as if it was the last chance they would get, and as if they had no time to spare.

Tsukishima supposed their real circumstances weren’t far off from that. 

“Bye, Yamaguchi.”

The green-haired thief didn’t reply, stealing off into the waking hour with what little remained of Tsukishima’s smile. Yamaguchi left nothing behind except the memory of lace and a hollow, deep-rooted ache just behind his ribs (and in his groin, but that seemed constant around Yamaguchi). 

✧✧✧

Kuroo Tetsurou, for all his prowess in chemistry and business, was an absolute fucking _idiot_ . Not even a subtle idiot with stupidity that could be ignored and dusted under the rug— _no._ Kuroo, the dramatic _bitch_ , was an _exemplary idiot_. The kind of idiot whose stupidity was broadcast in various, fizzing fireworks and branded into his forehead permanently like some kind of ignorable tattoo (nobody seemed to see his idiocy aside from Tsukishima). 

“I’m waiting at the entrance, Tsukishima,” Sugawara sounded in Tsukishima’s ear once more, but he wouldn’t be a mere voice today— _no._ Kuroo had fucked up too much for Sugawara to maintain his physical anonymity. _Fucking Kuroo Tetsurou._

Tsukishima kept an eye out for his handler, scanning the small crowd in front of the massive skyscraper for the features he’d been told to look out for: white hair, brown eyes, and a small mole underneath the left one. Given the description, Tsukishima had spent the last five minutes searching for an elderly person before realizing (and thinking Kuroo’s stupidity was contagious) that Sugawara Koushi was, in fact, only two years older than him. White-haired and _young_ would narrow down his search considerably. 

“Tsukki?”

Tsukishima blinked, taking a step back as he finally noticed Yamaguchi standing no more than three feet from where he’d stood. _How—_ the green-haired man had snuck up on Tsukishima stealthily (and accidentally it seemed), his wide, peering eyes betraying his surprise at seeing the blond. Yamaguchi looked different than he did on missions— more _normal_ — which made perfect sense, but it still took Tsukishima by surprise because casual Yamaguchi was still unbearably cute. His hair, normally sleek and pulled back, had been let down completely today: complete with frizz and a stubborn strand that stuck out at the top like a stem on a strawberry. _Speaking of strawberries…_ Tsukishima noted how red Yamaguchi’s face had gotten, noting a second later that he hadn’t responded to the man’s greeting. 

“Ah, Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima offered a greeting, lips quirking up ever-so-slightly as Yamaguchi pinkened, obviously replaying their dramatic goodbye in his head. 

_It was definitely too dramatic,_ Tsukishima thought, smirking and nodding at Yamaguchi to join him as he walked, _and it’s cute that he’s only realizing it now._

Tsukishima hadn’t minded the soap-opera-like kiss, spending more nights than healthy vividly picturing what would have happened next if he and Yamaguchi had just been normal dramatic people kissing, and not trained assassins with a time limit. 

“Is your handler coming as well?” Yamaguchi attempted to start the conversation, wringing his sleeves. Tsukishima frowned at that, slapping at the man’s hands so he’d stop before shrugging in response. 

“Sugawara-san said he was here,” Tsukishima frowned, looking above the vast sea of heads in front of him, “but I can’t seem to find him.”

“Daichi-san is coming as well,” Yamaguchi offered the information freely, standing on his toes to see above the crowd the way Tsukishima could. Yamaguchi was by no means short, but even his height paled in comparison to Tsukishima’s monstrous lankiness. 

“He’s my handler, and he says he knows Kuroo-san from way back.”

“Poor man,” Tsukishima tcched, finally spotting a head of white hair, attached to a youthful-looking face. 

“C’mon, Yamaguchi,” He walked forward, cutting through the crowd with ease. Yamaguchi latched onto his jacket and Tsukishima fought back a smile (maybe a little too much, since he was now scowling) slowing down so Yamaguchi could squeeze past the people without losing sight of him. 

“Sugawara-san?”

“Daichi-san?”

Tsukishima and Yamaguchi spoke over each other, eyeing each other with bashful surprise before looking back at their respective handlers. Sugawara Koushi, white-haired and youthful as promised, flushed and waved at the two of them, moving back to distance himself from the other man beside him. Tsukishima reasoned that the stranger was the Daichi-san Yamaguchi had been talking about, the man’s broad shoulders and familiar smile echoed in Yamaguchi’s own demeanor (the confident Yamaguchi who was accompanied with lace). 

Sure enough, when all the introductions had been made and handshakes exchanged, Tsukishima’s hunch proved correct: Sawamura Daichi was indeed Yamaguchi’s handler, and the kind-looking man next to him was his own, Sugawara Koushi. 

“Right,” Sawamura took the liberty of clarifying Kuroo’s idiocy and the purpose of their meeting, “Kuroo is a smart man, but if he’s been compromised for three days we can assume there will be trouble for us once we enter.” 

They all cast a sidelong glance at the towering building, home to a multitude of offices and think tanks. The offices had all been cast under different businesses, and the building was licensed to several private groups, so there wasn’t a simple way to find whoever the top dog was (Kuroo, the idiot, had found out but neglected to tell anyone). 

Tsukishima sighed loudly, cursing Kuroo’s pitiful existence with all his will (which was uncommonly weak, but he didn’t particularly care). Only Kuroo Tetsurou, a certifiable genius, could somehow manage to be captured when scouting. Granted, he’d been scouting the suspicious character who’d been hiring both Tsukishima and Yamaguchi repeatedly, but Tsukishima’s faith in Kuroo’s field operations was low. 

“Kuroo’s an idiot,” Tsukishima explained when three heads turned at his heavy sigh, “I’m sure he’s actually fine and he’s just lost in the building somewhere.”

“It is quite massive,” Yamaguchi hummed in support and Tsukishima welcomed the faith wholeheartedly (he knew he was a stingy bastard who liked to take more than he gave, but he, once again, didn’t care). 

“That’s true enough,” Sugawara piped up, “but his microchip has been deactivated. I had Kageyama-kun check for me.”

If Tsukishima hadn’t been so shocked by the mention of Kageyama, he would’ve taken more care to make a disgusted face at Sawamura’s heart-eyes towards Sugawara. Yamaguchi seemed to notice the sudden influx in Tsukishima’s grumpiness and he responded involuntarily with a larger smile and a nervous giggle. Tsukishima thanked Yamaguchi’s parents for making him, before hastily resuming his grumpy demeanor. 

“Kageyama? How’d you get that bastard to do anything for you?”

“I asked nicely, Tsukishima,” Sugawara raised an eyebrow, “maybe you should try it.”

Tsukishima prepared his scowl, ready to give up, but he paused when he caught Yamaguchi’s face. The freckled man had a confused look on his face, head tilted as his eyes bore into Sugawara’s profile with distrust. Their eyes met briefly, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi exchanging a brief conversation without opening their mouths. Yamaguchi didn’t think Sugawara had shared the whole truth, and Tsukishima trusted Yamaguchi’s instinct. 

“Bullshit,” Tsukishima called out, ignoring the way Sawamura bristled off to the side. Yamaguchi placated his handler with a gentle hand, resetting the mood in their small circle with natural precision. 

“Caught me,” Sugawara laughed, unbothered that his lie had been discovered, “He agreed to help if I promised to bring him along, today.”

“You’re fucking with me,” Tsukishima groaned, “He’s complete shit at field operations— worse than Kuroo even. He has the adaptability of a stick of lead.”

Yamaguchi, ever the angel, broke the tension again with a well-timed laugh that softened the edge to Tsukishima’s words imperceptibly. 

“Where is Kageyama-san?” Yamaguchi asked Sugawara, all smiling and calm. Tsukishima, finally, felt a pinch of guilt as his gut churned violently at Yamaguchi’s cute expression. _What am I? An animal?_

“Don’t bother asking,” Tsukishima laughed, a cold, humorless sound to anyone who knew him. 

“That’s him right there.”

Tsukishima pointed at a figure leaning in the shadows, the man having briefly piqued his interest when Yamaguchi and he had first arrived at this spot. His interest had vanished as quickly as it had come, however, as the realization of the man’s incompetence was a bitter, unsettling thing. The shadowed figure— Kageyama Tobio as he now knew— looked every bit as inconspicuous as the man thought he _didn’t_ look. A black baseball hat covered his head, a loose jacket zipped up high even in the heat— gaudy sunglasses completed the look. 

“Don’t be rude,” Sugawara shushed Tsukishima’s chuckle, waving Kageyama over.

“There’s nothing wrong with a bit of extra muscle.” 

“Is he alright?” Yamaguchi frowned, “He looks kind of warm.”

Tsukishima fumed silently, refusing to meet Kageyama’s glare as the black-haired man approached, sweating far too much. 

“Let’s just get this over with.”

Sugawara and Sawamura loitered in the main lobby, as Tsukishima, Yamaguchi _and now Kageyama_ , headed up the stairs to find where the main security room was. Kageyama’s steps were surprisingly quiet, much more inconspicuous now that Yamaguchi had artfully thrown his baseball cap and sunglasses into a nearby trash can with a cute ‘whoops’. Sugawara and Sawamura (their names went together too well, and it made Tsukishima sick, a little) relayed instructions from the lobby, their group once more relying on disposable earpieces to communicate well. 

“Kageyama,” Sugawara’s voice lilted familiarly through the audio, “Where did you say Kuroo’s microchip was deactivated?”

“Uh,” Kageyama artfully responded, brow furrowed as he struggled to remember.

_Of course,_ Tsukishima scoffed angrily, _He had one job and he’s already fucked it up. Typical Kageyama._

“Okay, that’s okay,” Sawamura took over, miraculously sounding stress-free. 

“Make your way to the security room and let’s see if we can get any info.”

Tsukishima was ready to reply, full snark, but he felt himself calm down when Yamaguchi looked over at him, eyes wide and imploring. He let himself be tugged along, behind Yamaguchi but in front of Kageyama as the beautiful man expertly navigated the building’s many floors. 

_He’s cute when he walks,_ Tsukishima’s degenerating brain sighed happily, almost malfunctioning when Yamaguchi stopped and Kageyama ran into him, pushing him against the man in front of him. _Not now,_ Tsukishima forced himself to calm down, leaning against the wall in an attempt at casualness. Kageyama mimicked him, eyes far too angry and suspicious to look casual, but people seemed to settle for avoiding them. 

“I’ll head inside and sort this out,” Yamaguchi smiled, patting Tsukishima’s shoulder once before slipping past the door. Kageyama made a disgruntled noise, stare boring a hole into the side of Tsukishima’s head. 

“I think Kuroo-san is on the top floor—”

“—I don’t want to hear it—”

“— _I know he’s on the_ —”

“—Nope, shut up, Don’t care. Don’t trust you—”

“— _Oi, bastard_ —”

“—Nope—.”

Both the squabbling men paused, heads turning to the door as it creaked open and a disheveled Yamaguchi shuffled out. His hair was messier than before, the zipper of his jacket lowered as askew. Tsukishima caught a peek of a familiar collarbone, following the curve of Yamaguchi’s freckled neck up to suspiciously blown pupils. 

“Top floor,” Yamaguchi rasped.

“Right, let’s go,” Tsukishima nodded, voice suddenly dry. Yamaguchi’s promiscuity might have put off other individuals, but Tsukishima only felt a dull throb in his gut at the man’s frizzy hair and wide stare. _I think I’m diseased._

“ _That’s what I was saying_ ,” Kageyama hissed, his anger a complete mood-killer. _Fuck you, Kageyama._ Tsukishima scowled, promising himself to be as big a cockblock as he could if Kageyama ever had a potential love interest.

_But who would put up with such an idiot?_

“Why the top floor?” Tsukishima mused, quietly walking beside Yamaguchi. 

“There’s an armed guard—”

“—Shut up, Kageyama, I didn’t ask you.”

“There’s an armed guard in front of the CEO’s office space,” Yamaguchi admitted in agreeance, casting Kageyama an apologetic look, “It seemed suspicious because the company isn't all that big, and all it’s known for are toys.”

“So, Kuroo got kidnapped by the CEO of a children’s toy company?”

That seemed fitting and Tsukishima smiled, pleased. Yamaguchi seemed to notice Tsukishima’s change in mood, laughing softly before pushing at the door that would lead to the floor the office was. 

“Did I say children’s toys?”

_Oh._

According to Yamaguchi, the single CEO’s office expanded through the whole floor and the guard would be situated at the end of the hall. Sugawara and Sawamura promised they would cover the alarm system, but the guard would be a problem. 

_Nothing Yamaguchi and I can’t handle,_ Tsukishima hummed, busying himself with unlocking the door. The elevator required a pass to enter the floor, so the fire stairs were their safest bet for entering, even if it had an alarm. 

_Click._

“Nice, Tsukki—!”

Kageyama yanked the door open, rushing out into the hallway before either (sane) men could react. _What the fuck?_ Tsukishima scowled, peeking around the corner to make sure the black-haired bastard hadn’t gotten his idiot head blown off by accident. Instead of the carnage he’d expected, he saw Kageyama in a low, aggressive stance, squaring off with a— _child?_

“Is that a child?” Yamaguchi echoed Tsukishima’s thoughts and the blond briefly considered kissing the shit out of his freckled companion, deciding to save that until after their rescue operation. 

“I think it’s just a short man,” Tsukishima squinted at the small, orange-haired bodyguard Kageyama was currently grappling with. Neither seemed to have the upper hand, curses, and insults flinging out of their mouths as they tussled against the far wall. 

“The door is in the opposite direction,” Yamaguchi blinked up at Tsukishima, “We could just…?”

They jogged down the hallway, getting past the door without a problem. Once it clicked behind them, the sound of the _really incompetent_ bodyguard and Kageyama became muted. The room was dark, walls blood red and expansive as the shades over the window let light trickle in at half efficiency. 

A moan ripped through the silence. 

“What the actual _fuck_ —”

✧✧✧

Tsukishima was on leave until further notice (Sugawara had consented, pity emanating from the man in waves). The image of Kuroo in a skirt and handcuffs had been so firmly burned into his retinas that he had considered bathing in bleach and possibly requesting for a memory wipe. _But then he wouldn’t remember Tadashi._ Life was often a cruel thing. 

“I’m happy for them,”

“Huh?” Tsukishima looked up, the sheets of the hotel bed wonderfully soft against his skin. _These are good quality sheets._ They were made even better quality by the nude form of Yamaguchi Tadashi beside him. _Yes, very good quality._

“Kozume-san and Kuroo-san?” Yamaguchi turned to face Tsukishima with a smile, the skin of his chest warm and soft against Tsukishima’s arm. 

“I’m happy for them.”

Tsukishima shrugged, making a noncommittal noise before pulling Yamaguchi up to straddle him. The green-haired man did so without question, leaning down to press a smiling kiss against Tsukishima’s nose and then his frowning mouth. Yamaguchi hadn’t really requested for leave, but Sawamura Daichi had upon hearing of Sugawara’s newfound freedom (Tsukishima was Sugawara’s only field operator). So now they both had all the time in the world to do whatever they damn well pleased. 

Tsukishima took this in stride. 

Reaching up, the blond let Yamaguchi’s long hair ensnare his fingers, wounding tight around each digit until he could pull the man down for a kiss. Tsukishima didn’t have quite enough hair to pull, but Yamaguchi preferred to pet the short curls softly, fingers trailing down to Tsukishima’s shoulders and then the flat planes of his chest. Tsukishima also preferred it, gloriously enamored by how _perfectly_ Tadashi fit into Tsukishima’s checklist: a commanding, reprimanding voice and a pliant body with a gentle touch. 

Tsukishima was picky, but Tadashi catered to him like a hired chef. _The best part was that he wasn’t at all hired_ — _Yamaguchi was here of his own volition._ Though Tsukishima would’ve probably considered the option had it been available and had the attraction been one-sided. 

“Again, Tsukki?”

Tsukishima blinked petulantly, pressing his hips upward in confirmation. 

“Aren’t you sore?”

Yamaguchi ground his ass down as he spoke and Tsukishima noted that, yes he was sore, but he wasn’t nearly in enough pain to deny another round with Tadashi. He also wasn’t stupid enough. 

“Shut up, Tadashi.”

Yamaguchi laughed, leaning down again to bite at Tsukishima’s mouth. His teeth gently eased into the soft flesh of Tsukishima’s lower lip and he dragged back, pulling at Tsukishima’s mouth as the blond lay there, joyously inanimate. Tsukishima wasn’t lazy per se, but he definitely identified himself as a _taker_ whereas Yamaguchi was, coincidentally, a hardcore _giver_. 

“Yamaguchi, stop the teasing,” Tsukishima frowned against the green-haired man’s mouth, one of his hands swooping downwards to press Yamaguchi’s hips down and against his awaiting dick. They slid together deliciously, friction sending little goosebumps sliding up Yamaguchi’s arms and Tsukishima mapped them with his tongue, head rolling to the side to nip at Yamaguchi’s wrist as it lay by his head. 

“We’re already naked,” Tsukishima continued, nudging Yamaguchi’s wrist away from his head when the freckled man stilled, eyes large and dark as he watched Tsukishima’s tongue lave over the flesh before withdrawing into a frown. 

“Just do it.”

“Don’t wanna, just yet,” Yamaguchi smiled, his eyes snapping out of their blushing trance. Gray and warm, Tsukishima let himself get lost in the depth of Yamaguchi’s stare before swearing, biting into his hand with surprise as a hand wrapped around his dick. Yamaguchi’s hand just sat there, loose, his weight pinning Tsukishima down so the blond couldn’t move. 

_Fuck you._ Tsukishima tried telepathically scolding Yamaguchi, failing once more as Yamaguchi’s grip tightened, sliding experimentally. Tsukishima’s head flew back into the pillows, eyes squinted and angry up at the slim boy above him. _His shoulders are actually quite broad_ , Tsukishima reached up to anchor himself on those broad, freckled shoulders, still feigning annoyance. 

Yamaguchi fluttered soft kisses over Tsukishima’s partially-blind eyes, his mouth firmly pressing smiles down Tsukishima’s face as his hand moved at a dangerously slow pace. 

“Kei,” Yamaguchi breathed, licking at the seam of Tsukishima’s lips before drawing back with a laugh. His hand came up to push Tsukishima’s torso down, eyes shiny with amusement as Tsukishima tried raising himself up to follow the tortuous man’s mouth. 

“If you let me take it slow now,” Tsukishima stilled, stiffly awaiting the deal Yamaguchi would broker, “I’ll wear my garters for you tomorrow.”

Tsukishima hummed, dick jumping merrily at the thought of Yamaguchi in lace. The freckled man had told him explicitly that he really only wore lace for missions, but now that the offer was on the table… 

“As long as you don’t kill me,” Tsukishima mumbled, relenting and laying down so Yamaguchi could do as he pleased. 

Yamaguchi scoffed, cheeks flushing red before busying himself at the base of Tsukishima’s neck, licking, sucking, and biting. 

“Hickies?” Tsukishima smirked up at the ceiling, blindly. His hands slid down to Yamaguchi’s thighs, pinching the flesh aggressively because he was a little shit and he liked the way Yamaguchi yelped in surprise. 

“We have a week,” Yamaguchi mouthed against Tsukishima’s skin, licking a stripe up to his ear before kissing his earlobe reverently. Tsukishima felt his ears warm and he wiggled a little underneath Yamaguchi, hissing when Yamaguchi’s hand started to pump him again, thumb rolling over the head lazily. 

“They’ll fade.”

“I’m more worried about lethal injections.”

“Yeah? Let me pull my giant needle out of my ass.”

“Shut up, Tadashi,” Tsukishima scowled, dick twitching against his will as Yamaguchi laughed into his shoulder, snorting softly at his own wit. _Adorable. Fucking adorable and it’s despicable._

“Mood killer.”

“Seems like your dick liked my joke.”

Tsukishima couldn’t argue against that, and so he let himself be littered in lovebites (he hated that word, but hickies made him think of needles made him think of—) and he slowly descended into a pleasurable haze against the sheets of the hotel bedroom. 

“Tadashi— _fuck_ — _shit_ —”

“Hmm?” Yamaguchi hummed, lips wrapped around Tsukishima’s cock far too skillfully. He took the blond back into the base of his throat, tongue lapping up the thick ridge before swallowing. The three fingers in Tsukishima’s ass— he told himself not to think of potential medical needles— swiveled quietly. 

_Won’t cum. Won’t cum. Won’t cu_ —Tsukishima chanted himself silly, one hand desperately pulling Tadashi’s hair out of its roots (it was naturally a dark green, which was strange but not really because Yamaguchi couldn’t possibly be human at this point) and the other fisting the bedsheets. 

The stretch in his ass (which yes, was still sore) ached delightfully all the way to his balls, now coated in a thin layer of precum and Tadashi’s saliva. 

“Tadashi, _put it in me_ —”

“No,” Yamaguchi smiled, wiping at his mouth slyly before moving away from Tsukishima completely. 

“I’ll let you do that.”

_Is he serious?_ Tsukishima’s bones felt like gelatin, yet the smiling, innocent _bastard_ (he took it back immediately because Tadashi could be nothing less than an angel— albeit one that definitely took sex lessons and had gotten booted from the kingdom above the clouds) just looked at him with a smile. 

Frowning and cursing his mortality, Tsukishima arranged himself on top of Yamaguchi, sinking down with little forewarning and grace. Yamaguchi’s hands pulled on Tsukishima’s hips, traveling up to his chest to affectionately trace his nipples before returning to his slobbered-on dick that rested against Tsukishima’s stomach offensively. 

“ _T-Tsukki_ ,” Yamaguchi moaned, all cute and red underneath Tsukishima. Tsukishima’s thighs burned, ass rocking against Yamaguchi with whatever energy he could muster. 

One of Tsukishima’s hands found itself in Yamaguchi’s mouth, his eyes squinted down (damn his poor eyesight) and focused on the way Yamaguchi’s tongue pressed up against the pads of his fingers. The other hand curled against Yamaguchi’s fingers at his hip, locking their palms together as Tsukishima’s chest lowered to push against Yamaguchi’s in a shallow thrust. 

Yamaguchi laughed, semi-delirious but every bit as enticing, kissing Tsukishima’s temple before resuming the rocking motion the blond had started. _He does it better,_ Tsukishima stifled the noises from his mouth into Yamaguchi’s shoulder, lapping at the collection of freckles that lay there. 

_He does it with pride_.

Tsukishima barked a short laugh into Yamaguchi’s chest, inhaling steeply as the man flipped them over, hair dropping into his face as they neared the final stretch. The blond man winced, legs pulled a little too high and a little too wide, but far past the point of caring. 

Yamaguchi finished with a low moan, emptying into the cheap condom Tsukishima had slammed on their hotel table like an engagement ring the day before. 

Soft hands found Tsukishima’s cock, twisting him to his own climax as he shuddered, quiet, before collapsing against the sheets in the same position he’d been in before. _The sheets are ruined._

They had been nice when they’d lasted: clean, crisp, and white. 

But that was over now, the linen defiled and beyond use. 

“Ask Yachi to bring the laundry cart,” Tsukishima yawned, turning on his side and pressing his nose to the pillow. 

Yamaguchi gasped, pinching Tsukishima’s ass cheekily before picking him up (seriously, why hadn’t Tsukishima noticed the muscles before) and putting him down on the bed next to the one they’d been using. The clerk at the desk hadn’t seemed suspicious, but with the amount of room service they’d been ordering a second bed was needed to divert any unwanted attention. _Let me fuck in peace,_ Yamaguchi had eloquently put it, an empty bottle of wine in hand the night before. _I want to suck your dick,_ Tsukishima had responded, sober. 

“She’d have a heart attack,” Yamaguchi laughed, bundling their sheets the best he could. 

“I’d probably have one too.”

Tsukishima didn’t doubt it, Yamaguchi’s nervousness around others’ blatantly obvious. It was admirable how the man morphed into some confident, chatty being as soon as he put on some lace— or had a proper fuck as Tsukishima had recently learned. He liked it. It made Yamaguchi special and it made Tsukishima want to keep him all to himself. 

“I’ll order us some strawberry shortcake,” Yamaguchi hummed, still flitting around the room. Tsukishima wondered if the freckled man was secretly an incubus who sucked the energy of Tsukishima out during sex. _I wouldn’t mind,_ Tsukishima mused, face tucked into the pillow, _it would be a nice way to go._

After hearing Yamaguchi place the order, Tsukishima felt the bed dip down next to him. He stubbornly stayed put in the middle of the bed, smiling to himself when a warm arm wrapped around his waist, a leg hooking around his hip. 

“Goodnight, _Hotaru,_ ” Yamaguchi yawned into the nape of Tsukishima’s neck. The sun peaked at them accusingly through the curtain and Tsukishima felt his chest swell uncomfortably. 

Few knew both his real name and pseudonym, even fewer still who lived to tell the tale. Yet, Yamaguchi Tadashi walked that fine line like a trained tightrope artist and balanced Tsukishima's heart on a staff as he did so. Tsukishima’s body ached lowly and he eased himself further back into Yamaguchi’s body. 

_Are you always this perfect?_ Tsukishima had asked him the night before, dripping wine on the man’s freckles as if attempting to paint a constellation. 

_I have a faultless record,_ Yamaguchi had announced, pridefully, Tsukishima’s suave attempt at flirtation sailing straight over his pretty little head. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I am incapable of looking myself in the mirror and also of writing smut without cheesy jokes, it seems. I couldn't even reread it to check for grammar- forgive me and I hope you enjoyed it (?) maybe. Thank you for reading though! Critique (?) is appreciated.


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